Keystones: Altered Destinies (21 page)

Arc gazed at the clouds before he answered. “Not yet, but give me another four days.”

Michael was unclear about what was supposed to happen next. “Were you just giving Brice a lift, or are you joining us?”

Arc looked at Brice before addressing Michael. “Being able to jump high into the sky is less useful indoors. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Good.” Michael was happy for the company and scared of going inside the terminal building. “There’s strength in numbers.” He turned to Brice and said in a hopeful tone, “I’m starving. Do you have any chocolate?”

“Sure.” Brice tossed a Twix to Michael. “Want one, Arc?”

Opening it, Michael looked at Brice in mild disappointment. “Only two?”

“That’s a king-size bar. Stop complaining.” Brice paused a moment. “I’d also appreciate it if you could bring Tricia here. The coast seems to be clear.”

“Sure, I’ll have one,” replied Arc responded to Brice’s offer.

Brice handed a packet to Arc.

Arc tore open the wrapper and bit down on a bar. “How many of these do you have on you?” he asked with a full mouth.

Brice smiled. “Some Keystones are a little luckier than others.”

Arc was incredulous. “Your Keystone ability is to make Twix bars? I’m definitely staying with the two of you.”

“Three,” said Michael. “I’m going to fetch his wife.”

Devils

Deklan and Slate teleported through the empty halls of an apartment building, searching for the children by the sounds of their tearful voices. Slate chose a door from behind which he thought the noises were coming.

Testing the doorknob, Deklan was unsurprised to find it locked. Before he could utter words to the effect, Slate kicked the door in, bending the steel around the bolt and destroying the door.

“Don’t you think that perhaps your use of force was excessive there?” Deklan asked, his voice critical.

Slate strode forward without looking at him. “Save the comments for after we find those kids.”

When Slate was on a mission, he was single-minded and difficult to engage in conversation. “I should probably go first,” suggested Deklan.

“Why?” Slate still sounded combative.

“Because you look terrifying.”

“You don’t speak Portuguese,” countered Slate.

“True, but that ability doesn’t make you any less scary. How do you think you would have reacted to a faceless man before The Sweep?” Deklan gave Slate two seconds for a response. “Nor is a child going to speak only Portuguese. You speak fluent English, and I doubt that you’re from somewhere other than Boa Vista.”

Slate’s featureless face stared at Deklan. “Fine, then. You go first.”

“Hello?” called out Deklan in a reassuring tone. The apartment had gone silent since Slate had crushed in the door. Black scorch marks streaked all of the walls. The place had been burned but in an odd way. There was also an unpleasant smell, a mixture of barbecue and plastic. The entrance foyer where he stood had sustained the least damage.

On Deklan’s left was a modest kitchen adjacent to what had been an entertainment area. Here he found the scorched bodies of a man and a woman.

The man looked normal—tan skin, dark hair, an average face neither handsome nor ugly. The woman, however, had a pair of curling and pointed horns growing from her forehead. The horns looked sharp enough to skewer meat. Both corpses had their eyes closed and their faces in peaceful repose. They appeared uninjured apart from the black lancing that crisscrossed their chests, having burned through their clothing. It was as though they had been whipped with monofilaments of fire.

Slate stepped closer to inspect the bodies. He spent minutes examining them, and when he finally spoke his voice was somber. “I don’t know who or what did this, but I think it happened fast. The lines look as though they continue from one victim to the other. They also don’t have any defensive wounds.”

Deklan thought about what Slate had just said. “And some poor kid has been in here screaming since it happened. At least I assume it’s a kid.” He raised his voice again. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Deklan lowered his voice in saying to Slate, “I’m going to go from room to room. I think you should wait here. No offense, but you are quite scary-looking.”

Slate’s only answer was a brisk nod.

Deklan considered his options.

Four doors radiated from the entertainment area. He went from right to left in his search. The first door led to a dining room that was so clean as to look unused. The table was a made of a dark wood that had been polished to a bright sheen. The six chairs matched and had fabric seats.

The next door led to the master bedroom, which was immaculate save for the bed. Sheets lying in every direction indicated that it recently had been slept in. In the adjoining bathroom toothbrushes and toiletries covered the countertops.

Retreating back to the entertainment area, Deklan tried the third room, which turned out to be a child’s messy bedroom. Food and discarded containers littered the floor. The room had no obvious inhabitants, but Deklan felt that this was where he was going to find the unlucky child.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said to the empty room. “I’m going to start looking for you now. I’m here to help, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Under the bed was a vast array of toys and electronics but no child. Deklan turned his attention to the closet. He touched the sliding door with just the tips of his fingers. If he were going to find the child, this was the likely place. “I’m going to open the closet now,” he said in a gentle voice. “Please don’t be afraid.”

Moving the door into its recessed pocket in the wall, Deklan saw a boy who was perhaps ten years old. His dark features looked scared.

Deklan crouched down to appear less threatening. “Hi. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you understand me?”

The boy nodded.

“Are those your parents out there?” Deklan stumbled over the word “parents.”

Another nod.

“I’m sorry. Do you have any other family?”

This time Deklan was answered by a shake of the boy’s head.

Deklan felt a new load settle on his shoulders. “I don’t think this is a happy place for you anymore. Do you want to come with me?”

The child just stared at him, his face devoid of all expression except fear.

“This entire city is dangerous. I’m going to the Elevator to see space. Do you want to come to space with me?” He tried to make his tone encouraging. “It would be far away from all of this.”

Something like a spark of interest glimmered in the child’s eyes.

Deklan saw that he might be getting through to the boy. “Tell you what. Why don’t you come with me into the living room? My friend is there. You can come with us for a little while and then decide what you want to do.” Deklan tried to read the child’s reaction. “I don’t want to leave you here, but I have to go. If I go without you, then you’ll be alone. I don’t think you’d like that very much.”

Deklan reached out his hand. “Here, why don’t you take my hand?”

The child looked at him and then his hand, eyeing it like a foreign object unconnected to a human being.

“Kid, you don’t have much time here. I need to go, and I’d like you to come with me.” Deklan knew this to be true, if only so that he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life blaming himself for leaving a child in a place like this. The child had seen something in Deklan’s face that spoke to him. He squeezed Deklan’s hand and then embraced him.

This was not his area of expertise. Deklan hugged the boy in return and made soothing noises, trying to be comforting.

After several minutes the child’s vice-like grasp relaxed. “What’s your name?” asked Deklan.

“Vinicius.”

Deklan sensed that the time was ripe for him to lead the boy into the living room. As he stepped through the door, he was grateful for Slate’s foresight. The dead bodies were no longer in the middle of the entertainment area but behind a couch with sheets covering them. The tidied room was far less traumatic for a child who had already seen too much. At least it would have been except that Slate was still in it.

“Diablo!” screamed the boy with a hand outstretched in Slate’s direction. Vinicius’s eyes flared white, and a crackling lash hurtled toward Slate’s leather-clad form.

Deklan realized that the kid was a Keystone, and a dangerous one, he lunged between Slate and the terrified child. From behind him whip-like electricity tore into his flesh, burning through his clothing. Deklan’s stomach churned as jolts ran the length of his spine, causing his arms and legs to spasm. He fell to the floor, bile flooding his mouth as his head wrenched from side to side.

Then the onslaught suddenly ended. The smell of charred flesh invaded Deklan’s nose. He had to keep moving and fight through the pain. Using his arms, he tried to roll himself over, but his back stuck to the carpet. “Please stop,” said Deklan to the boy. “My friend is not a danger to you.”

“Diablo?” said the child again with confusion in his voice.

Deklan risked a glance at Slate and was transfixed. The featureless face vanished. A nose emerged; skin overlaying eyes faded away; lips came into view as well as a full head of long, dark hair. In only a few moments Slate had transformed from a featureless and androgynous creature into a beautiful woman.

Her voice was gentle in speaking to Vinicius. “I’m not a devil, and I’m sorry I scared you.”

Sinkholes

Michael landed with Tricia in tow, while Arc and Brice sat on their crumpled car munching Twix bars.

Brice waved. “Hi, honey. Thanks, Michael.”

“Brice, you’re okay!” Tricia’s excited exclamation gave way to a glare. “How many of those have you eaten?” she asked.

“Arc,” said Brice, “this is my wife Tricia. She can be difficult.”

Tricia marched over to Brice. “In thirty years of marriage you haven’t begun to see ‘difficult.’ Now how many of those have you eaten?”

Brice looked worried by Tricia’s antics for the first time that Michael had witnessed. “I deserve them,” Mr. Tobin responded lamely. “I’ve been trekking through this miserable city all day.”

Tricia snatched the bar away. “How many?” she demanded.

Brice rubbed the back of his neck and refused to make eye contact. “Maybe three?”

Tricia rubbed her face. “Michael,” she declared, “take me back.”

Michael was unsure of how to handle the marital spat. “Really?” he asked.

She gave him a dirty look too, as though Brice’s eating chocolate was somehow also his fault. “No,” the imperious Tricia conceded.

“Are you ready, darling?” asked Brice.

Tricia eyed him darkly, her posture promising trouble if Brice didn’t choose his next few words with care. “Yes, let’s go. I’m sure we’ll find Deklan in here somewhere.”

“Arc and Michael,” asked Mr. Tobin, “are you ready to go?”

Michael had watched people trickle into the Elevator terminal from the parklands while he was transporting Tricia. He didn’t envy the people having to walk where he’d been able to fly, bypassing all of the danger. Now he, with Tricia, Brice and Arc joined the procession. Inside the building he was thankful for the high ceiling that made his claustrophobia easier to deal with. They had to get in line, and he was amazed that the automated security functions were still operational. Each of the four stepped through a biometric scanner that verified their Secure Identities and were required to use their Uplinks to prove that they had tickets.

Tricia stopped them once they had cleared the checkpoint. “How is Deklan going to get past that checkpoint?” she asked. “His Uplink was stolen.”

“Dear,” replied Brice, “you’re confident that he’ll survive Boa Vista’s mayhem but concerned that those flimsy protocols will slow him down? I’m guessing he’ll use another entrance.”

Unconvinced, she shook her head. “Terminals don’t have other entrances.”

“Then he’ll make one.”

“Whom are they talking about?” Arc asked Michael in an aside.

Michael made sure that the Tobins couldn’t hear his answer. “Their son, Deklan. I lost him in the city. There was a lot of blood.”

Arc leaned closer and whispered, “So they’re delusional?”

Michael shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Doubtful.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You and I can move fast. Deklan’s resilient. I expect to see him again.”

Just then Brice coughed into his hand and said to Michael, “You’re attracting a lot of attention.”

Michael looked around. It was true. Of all the people in sight, he was one of only three Keystones with any sort of obvious physical alteration.

One man had a sixth finger on his left hand; another had a pair of quivering antennae sprouting from his forehead. Beyond that, however, the hundred or so other travelers in the terminal looked normal. Michael nodded his agreement. “You’re right, but I’d rather keep the wings than lose the attention.”

As the four walked long hallways to the waiting area, their journey was interrupted by a rumble that shook the entire building. A sinkhole suddenly yawned wide in the floor.

“Run!” shouted Michael.

A grandmotherly woman in her mid-fifties stepped out of the gaping hole. “Pardon me,” she said in a clipped British accent. “Is this the terminal?”

A tentative voice from the crowd answered, “Yes?”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” She smiled at the assembled crowd and turned back to the opening behind her. “Come out, darlings. We’ve made it.” A group of perhaps forty men, women, and children clambered out of the sinkhole. “Which way to the waiting area?” asked their guide.

“Did you save all of these people yourself?” inquired a wide-eyed Tricia.

“Goodness, no. They saved themselves. I just made the tunnel. Now, about the waiting area?”

Abandoned

Now it made sense to Deklan. Now he knew what it was about Slate’s voice that had bothered him: it was part of a disguise. “You’re a woman,” he said slack-jawed, all childhood training to keep his mouth shut forgotten.

“Your suavity is why I chose to travel with you.” Slate’s words had a biting edge. She was not happy that he knew her secret.

“How about being nice to the guy who just ran in front of an electric whip to save you? An electric whip.” Deklan reflected on the words as he repeated them and considered their deeper import. His eyes shifted from Slate to the boy. “It was an accident, wasn’t it?” he said to Vinicius.